


Sock Puppets

by Mayoki



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crack, Gen, Humor, I Don't Even Know, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-25 10:33:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3807121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mayoki/pseuds/Mayoki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John knows Sherlock talks to himself when he isn't there. What he doesn't know is that Sherlock has a sock-puppet who talks back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sock Puppets

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written several years ago as response to a prompt on the LJ BBC Sherlock kink-meme.

‘It’s obvious.’ Sherlock droned lazily. He was stretched out on the sofa, long legs dangling over one arm and his head pillowed on a cushion that had been fashionable back in the 70’s. His head was lazily turned to the television set where an obese lady was busy sobbing out her life story to a sympathetic audience while a man shoved a mic in her face and the camera tried to find the best angle to capture her tears.  
  
‘What’s obvious?’ John asked, actually managing to sound a bit interested.  
  
‘She’s going on about her boyfriend leaving her and taking the children, but the answers are clear as day. Clearly whoever researches people to go on this show need firing. Or they just don’t care.’  
  
There was a sigh. ‘The poor woman is depressed. She lost her husband and then her children. Do you really not have a compassionate bone in your body?’  
  
‘Ah, she lost her husband. Yes. But was it his fault as she’s leading us to believe? It’s very easy for her to pin the blame on him when he’s not there to defend himself. And in societies view it’s always the woman playing the part of the victim. But look closely. She’s malnourished and a junkie.’  
  
There was a long pause. ‘Okay, now you’ve got me. She’s clearly obese. How do you work that one out, oh Great Sherlock?’  
  
Sherlock sat up a bit, a clear sign that he was about to descend into a lengthy explanation. ‘When she opens her mouth you can see her gums are swollen. Also traces of blood, several fillings and an early tooth decay on the left bottom third molar. She eats lots of junk food. Take aways. Crisps. Fizzy drinks.’  
  
‘Okay…’  
  
‘Note her pallor. She’s paler than me, combined with her weight clearly someone who spends her days in front of the television with a bucket of KFC.’  
  
‘Didn’t know you knew what a KFC was.’  
  
‘Are you going to keep interrupting?’  
  
‘Sorry, carry on. This is getting good.’  
  
‘Broken left wrist. She claims he pushed her over. In a thirty year old woman that seems a rather poor reason for such a nasty break. Lack of calcium and or vitamin D indicates fragile bones, early osteoporosis. Dry skin, indicated again dehydration and malnutrition. She was a lazy cow.’  
  
John whistled in astonishment. ‘Why on earth didn’t you go into medicine? You could have been an excellent doctor, you know. Working the wards and picking out everything. Come to think of it you’d be good at anything you put your mind to.’  
  
‘Of course I would, John. She was also a junkie. Track marks on her arms are covered up by stage make up.’  
  
There was a pause as John tried to see her arms. ‘I can’t see marks.’  
  
Sherlock gave an uncomfortable smile. ‘Trust me. It’s the oldest trick in the book. I’ve covered my own fair share to know what to look for. Pupils slight dilated, thin sheen of sweat. She loaded up not half an hour before coming on air.’  
  
‘Okay, pretty damn impressive that you noticed the marks. But there’s something more. You’re too good to just leave it at that.’  
  
‘I know I am,’ Sherlock said naturally. ‘Compulsive gambler. Her watch is fake, the roman numerals for four are wrong. Clearly cheaply made in China.’  
  
‘You can see the numbers from here? Now I really am in awe. You don’t miss a thing do you?’  
  
‘Her dress is a Stella McCartney knock off, just look at the hem work. She definitely didn’t pay the five thousand pound price tag for that. Her bag is wrong too; the Chancel C is the wrong shade of gold. All in all a con woman who has little to no ability to look after herself, hence why her husband left her and took her children away.’  
  
‘You never fail to impress me, you know that? Even watching a crap show like this your mind is working a mile a minute.’  
  
Sherlock grinned. ‘I know, I am pretty amazing.’  
  
‘No seriously! Sherlock, I don’t think you realise just how awesome you are!’  
  
‘Oh I do.’  
  
‘No! You’re too humble!’  
  
‘Stop, John, you’re embarrassing me!’

-

  
  
John had just popped to the shops for nicotine patches (just how did Sherlock get through so many in only two days?) and was fumbling for the door when he heard the conversation within the flat. For a second he stood still, not wanting to intrude if Sherlock had company over…but he could clearly hear Sherlock’s voice. And then a voice that was most definitely still Sherlock…but sounded off. It sounded awe-struck. It sounded dazzled. It sounded…kind of like him.  
  
And the voice was going on about how awesome Sherlock was.  
  
Confused John pushed the door open and was about to announce that he was back…but decided instead to just blink. Sherlock was sitting happily on the sofa where he had left him, but had taken off his right sock. The sock was now on his hand and had been fashioned into a puppet. It took seconds for John to realise who Sherlock had been talking to.  
  
‘I…don’t even…’  
  
‘Hi John.’  
  
‘…Hi.’ That seemed as good place as any to start. ‘What the hell?’  
  
‘This is Sock!John. He says hi too.’  
  
‘Hi.’ Said the sock, in a voice that was most definitely NOT anything like what John sounded like.  
  
‘It’s finally happened, hasn’t it? You’ve finally gone crazy. Oh god. Mycroft warned me this might happen. I need to phone him and get you bloody committed…’  
  
‘No, John, it’s fine. I do this all the time.’ Sherlock insisted.  
  
John simply stared. At the grown man with a sock on his hand. ‘That actually doesn’t make me feel better about the situation, strangely enough.’ Sock!John turned to John and John felt uncomfortable under its unseeing gaze. ‘Put your damn sock back on.’  
  
‘No. I like Sock!John. He’s far more complimentary than Regular!John.’  
  
‘Sherlock, I’m not pissing about. Put your damn sock on! I…I can’t even believe I’m having to tell you to do that!’  
  
The sock looked sadly to Sherlock then back at John. ‘It’ll kill him if I do that.’ The sock nodded in agreement.  
  
‘I don’t bloody care! You’re thirty…’ John trailed off as he realised he had no idea how old Sherlock was. ‘You’re a grown man! Put the sock back on.’  
  
‘Sock!John knows my age. He knows all my deepest secrets.’  
  
‘Sock. On your foot. NOW.’ John said with barely restrained force.  
  
‘Bye Sock!John. See you later.’ Sherlock finally took the sock off his hand and replaced it on his foot. He sank back into the sofa and crossed his arms tightly. ‘You’re so cruel. Did I know that you were this cruel before I agreed to live with you?’  
  
‘Yes I’m terrible horrible person who just went out at eleven at night to get you some damn nicotine patches.’  
  
‘At least we’re in agreement about your previously hidden ruthless side.’  
  
The box of patches were thrown at Sherlock’s head.  
  
‘Ow. And violent tendencies. Maybe I should call Mycroft and get you committed?’  
  
‘Goodnight Sherlock.’ John said tersely, slamming the door behind him as he went up to bed.  
  
As soon as he was gone the sock came off again and was slipped on to Sherlock’s hand. ‘Now this gentleman. He was in a motorbike gang. I’m tempted to say Hell’s Angels but I need to gather more data before cementing my conclusions.’  
  
‘Always so careful, Sherlock! You’re so amazing…’  
  
‘I know.’


End file.
